Some Unholy War
by rsre
Summary: Gadreel on seeing Sam's soul for the first time. Slight canon divergence at the end, trigger warnings for implied torture (Not Graphic!) and thoughts of suicide. He sees Sam's pain and suffering and makes a decision.


**Author's Note**

**Warning for attempted suicide.**

**Okay I know this isn't a very original idea but I tried to make the story unique. If this is similar to someone else's works, I mean not just the concept, but way too similar, please message or contact me because it will have been completely accidental.**

**If any one has read my other fics, I seem to be writing a lot of hurt!sam. Oops, is it bad that I'm not entirely sorry?**

**Please review! But no flames, I'm still fairly new at this. :)**

_He still stands in spite of what his scars say_  
_And I'll battle 'til this bitter finale_

_Yes my man is fighting some unholy war_  
_And I will stand beside you_  
_And who you dying for_

_-Amy Winehouse's 'Some Unholy War'_

He had never seen a soul like this.

It was dark, not merely dimmed, like a bank robber or drug dealers. Petty theft is a sin, but redeemable.

It was black, like a void. Gaping and wide and the color of nothing.

Except it wasn't wide, you would think it'd have to be, to fit so many memories. But it was small and cramped, burrowing itself into the furthest corner of consciousness.

He wanted to coax it out, hands open, palms outstretched. To comfort this damaged fragment, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. No, he wanted to run the opposite direction. It was horrifying, all he could do was stay back and observe.

How is this human functioning? Gadreel, no, he went by Ezekiel, asked.

It wasn't glass, the human soul. It could be stretched taught and still bounce back with a menial amount of prayer. A human soul could not break.

But this one did.

Average souls are bright, while some are dimmer than others, and they bounce and expand and glow.

This one was still, like an unbeating heart in a dead man's chest. It was wound tightly and didn't burn with heat or passion. It was ice cold, colorless and toneless. No hum or buzz sounding in the empty walls Gadreel was surrounded by.

In curiosity, sick curiosity, he placed two fingers to it.

He was submerged in anger and betrayal.

_Don't you ever come back. You walk out that door don't you ever come back._

And fire. The earliest memories of fire, and then some newer ones.

_Jessica! No!_

And of absent fathers, motel rooms with not enough blankets or food.

_Dad will be back right?_

Finally present, yet still distant fathers.

_ Dad said if I couldn't save you, I'd have to kill you._

Then there was blood. Tainted, he knew that much.

_I've got demon blood in me, Dean! It's like a disease! I can never rip it out or scrub it clean!_

Then there was death and deals and the stench of rotting meat.

_ How long? Dammit Dean, how long!?_

Hundreds of Tuesdays with repetitive deaths.

_Sam Winchester wears makeup, Sam Winchester cries his way through sex, Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by his bed and every morning when he wakes up-_

Then there were hellhounds and noise and clocks ticking down.

_No, no, Dean, please!_

Demons and powers and shame but a little angelic pushing telling him it was Righteous.

_I'm saving people!_

Then Lucifer, falling and rising. Curled lips and bloody razor blades.

_I'll kill myself before saying yes to you!_

A pit, four rings, and a whoosh of wind.

_ It's okay Dean, I'm here, I've got him._

Centuries in the dark. It was cold and noiseless, ice ripping at his vocal chords. The cage was made of his own flesh, his own blood, his own bone, everything that had once been torn from him being built to contain him.

A voice, archangel. "Not crying for Dean anymore, huh Sammy?"

_ Dean? Who's Dean?_

A soul, a new god, and Lucifer riding his shoulder. "You know where to aim cowboy."

_Maybe it'll be better this way._

There was more, so much more, but Gadreel was already gasping for breath and scrambling away.

No, he couldn't stay here. Not in this body. Not in this human.

Was he even human?

He stabilized him, or at least tried, gave him enough to start.

Dean would take him back to the hospital, he'd recover. Maybe.

It didn't matter. Gadreel was leaving. _Now._

He did the best he could, tried to retrieve some brain function, shocked a few of the more important organs.

If Sam was still willing to fight, he'd recover.

But Gadreel wasn't so sure he'd want to keep fighting.


End file.
